Rupert's left hand did not leave my throat, but his free right hand began to dart about me, feeling, probing, and rummaging.

I lay quite helpless and in the bitterness of great consternation.

Rupert found my revolver, drew it out with a gibe, and handed it to Rischenheim, who was now standing beside him.

Then he felt the box, he drew it out, his eyes sparkled.

He set his knee hard on my chest, so that I could scarcely breathe; then he ventured to loose my throat, and tore the box open eagerly.
"Bring a light here," he cried.